


Home

by shnee



Category: Camp Camp (Web Series)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Gen, and they are jerks who wouldve guessed, drabble i guess, i guess, maxs parents are mentioned, my writing is rusty whoops, yeah its that kinda fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2019-03-10 11:25:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13500804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shnee/pseuds/shnee
Summary: There was a time where "home" wasn't more than a word.Home meants empty spaces and violent voices hid behind sweet smiles. His home was a play of hide and seek. A promise of love that was never fulfilled.But he discovered, that maybe "home" could become more than that.





	Home

**Author's Note:**

> My excuses are that english isn't my first language and that I haven't written anything in a loooong time.  
> anyway enjoy this crap cause Max deserves better godammit.

There was a time where "home" wasn't more than a word. A four-letter word, describing the place where one eats and sleeps. His home was just that. He would home home and maybe eat something before he went to sleep. Shower in the morning, and head out again. Home meant empty spaces and violent voices hid behind sweet smiles. His home was a play of hide and skeek. A promise of love that was never fulfilled.

On good days, home meant his mother cooking dinner, which they ate off a fancy dining table. It meant the silence between the clatter of silver hitting porcelain, meant stiff conversations and empty smiles. Good days meant passive-aggressive remarks about his grades and "Sit up straight, Maxwell." 

 

Love meant letting him exist, despite the fact that he wasn't supposed to.

 

 

After a while spent living with David, he discovered that maybe, maybe "home" could become more than that. Could become burnt pancakes and movie-nights on the couch. Could become hot chocolate and warm hugs. And after nights spent crying, not alone in his room, but in the warmth of the counselor's arms, Max thought that maybe that's what home meant.

Their dinners at the small kitchen table were never silent. David spoke enough for both of them and on good days, the man could even drag a few words out of the child. On good days, they would go out to eat pizza and watch a movie afterwards. On good days, they would sit on the couch in comfortable silence, while David read and Max played games.

On good days, home meant comfort

 

Slowly, the boy sitting at the fancy dining table began to disappear. "Sit up straight, Maxwell." became "How was your day, Max?" and sweet, fake smiles became heartfelt laughter. Empty spaces were filled with warm embraces and comforting hands placed on his shoulders.

 

Slowly, he came to realize that maybe he was allowed to exist, to take up space.

 

 

And maybe "home" meant just that.


End file.
